Frozen lake
by QueenMargretheI
Summary: Jon thinks of his last interactions with the queen before he and Jorah left Dragonstone and went beyond the Wall. This is what I imagine happened between scenes. Jonerys-fic. I would love criticism, I only hope you will keep it constructive. First fanfiction. I know it's GOT but, please don't kill me!
1. Chapter 1

Frozen lake

Jon was squeezed in between the Hound and Mormont to keep warm, and as he woke from his troubled sleep, it took him a moment to realize where he was. Back in this northern wasteland, trapped by thousands of frozen corpses on an icy lake. Fucking brilliant… His mind wandered to more pleasant thoughts. He had been dreaming of her. The memory of her lips on his stirred a growing warmth in his lower stomach and in his cheeks. What a fool he was. A great northern fool.

The evening before their departure, he had been walking the halls of Dragonstone, organizing his thoughts and trying to pass the time before the evening meal. He came across the room with the painted table and found the door slightly open. He paused and pushed it further open, still half expecting it to be empty. As he opened the door, the queen came into view, her back towards the entrance. She was clearly deep in thought, and he considered leaving without making his presence known. On the other hand, this was probably the only chance he would ever get to be alone with her. His decision was made for him when she spoke: "Do you make a habit out of putting yourself in the front lines of every dangerous situation at hand?".

Jon was momentarily pulled from his daydreams as Jorah woke and started warming his legs by rubbing and beating them with his hands. As he did, Jon became aware of the cold numbness that had spread to his own feet, legs and arse. He stomped his feet in an attempt to get his blood running. Dawn was approaching and Jon wondered how many hours had passed since Gendry started running. Would she reach them in time? Was she coming at all?

Jon didn't know how to reply to her pointed remark. Her words did not bother him. He would never let another man risk his life for him. Honor demanded he take charge of the mission going north of the wall. The queen turned and faced him now, with a questioning expression on her delicate face. She was expecting a reply, so he drew in a deep breath and looked to his feet before answering: "I believe I am doing what's right. Even if it puts my life in danger, it's still the right course of action". She rolled her eyes as if it was exactly the reply she had expected. Then she turned away again, gazing out over the crashing waves below. "The right thing for who, exactly?". Confused by her question and curious as to what she was getting at, Jon walked further into the room. "What do you mean?" he asked as he walked to her side, still keeping a respectful distance. "How many Starks are left now?" She asked tersely, bringing Jon to a stop. "Not counting your grandfather and uncle, who where killed by my father" she added quietly, as if only to herself. Surprised by her question as well as a twinge of pain through his heart made him pause. It had been a while since he had thought of his lost family members. Their faces flashed before his eyes as he counted. Lord Stark, Lady Stark, the former King in the North and his new family. And little Rickon. "Three" he replied, "Four if you include me". The queen did not seem interested in whether he fell into the Stark-catagory or not. "Your younger siblings. What would happen to them if you die?" Jon had not expected the queen to show concern for his family's wellbeing. He suspected something else spurred her to ask that question. Nevertheless he replied, ignoring her accusing tone. "Sansa will be the Lady of Winterfell… Or Bran will be lord. I suppose that will be up to the Northern lords to decide. Why do you ask?". Shaking her head with a sad smile, she turned to face him. "I have lost all my family. All the Targaryens and my husband and child. How you can bring yourself to risk your life, and in extension theirs, is beyond my comprehension!". Jon felt his temper rising. His family meant everything to him, but that did not change his mind. He would be damned if he stayed behind while others fought for him. "I am protecting my family by fighting the threat in the North. I don't expect you to understand that, since you have not yet seen the Dead. My goal is clear. To remove that threat from the North and _in extension, from my family._ " Jon made to leave the map room before his anger would lead him to say something he would later regret, but was called back by the queens fury: "My goal was clear too, Jon Snow! Until you came here with your fables and begged me to fight for _your people._ A people, who by your own statement, hates me". Her eyes were blazing as she had turned to look him in the eye. "Make no mistake, I will make amends for what my father did, but do not expect me to risk my goal, my people and my children for nothing!" Having said her piece, she quickly turned her back toward him and folded her arms across her chest, her back rigid with tension. Unable to come up with a reply, Jon turned and stormed out the door. His steps echoed down the stony black halls. How was it, that every time he spoke with that woman, they would end up fighting. The only exception being the time they spoke on the stone dais outside the castle. And in the cave. His footsteps slowed as he remembered that day. First the discovery of the markings in the cave and later the queens face relaxed in an expression of wonderment. It was the first time he saw her without her mask of queenly indifference. Her eyes wide and excited and her lips slightly open. He felt the reoccurring heat gathering in his cheeks and ears and the slight hardening of his member. Whenever he thought of her lips he started thinking about everything else. _Her good heart_ amongst other things _._ He shook his head as he continued down the hall to his chamber. " _Better put those fantasies out of my head_ " he thought. He needed to get ready for tonights supper. Davos and himself would be dining with the queen and her retinue and he needed to clear his head before then. Turning down the corridor to where his and Davos' chambers were located, he ran into the queens trusted knight, his soon to be traveling companion, Ser Jorah Mormont. The knight gave him a polite but guarded smile, before he moved past Jon. In stead of going to his own, he went to Ser Davos' chamber. The onion knight looked up from a book he had found in the castle library. "Ah, Your Grace! Ready for tonight?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Jon found his not-so-subtle indications annoying. "What was ser Jorah doing here?" he asked dismissively while turning to the table containing a flask of wine and some beautifully ornamented glasses. He poured some for himself and raised the container toward Davos. The old man turned down the offer and answered: "He asked about his niece, the fierce Lady Lyanna Mormont". Jon put down the wine and took a sip from his cup and Davos continued: "his reputation has suffered quite a bit, since his banishment. I wonder how Lyanna will react, should she ever meet her long lost uncle". "They never met" Jon replied. "Thought I can't imagine she will be impressed with a man who sold people into slavery. I remember my father talking about it all those years ago". How could the Breaker of Chains allow such a man to serve her? A man who sold slaves. Jon emptied his cup in a final drag, avoiding Davos' questioning gaze. It was obvious Jon disliked the man, but not why. "You should probably not drink too much" Davos commented, ignoring Jon's harsh words about the former lord of Bear Island. "You'll need your wits about you for tonight's dinner. The queen has invited her bloodriders to dine with us and I don't know about you, but if I am to run from those fuckers, I would like to be able to run in a straight line", Davos finished with a chuckle. Jon was still thinking about Jorah. What was his relationship with the queen? He remembered her smile when said bloodriders brought Jorah to her on the cliff not too long ago. It was the only real smile he had seen on her face. And it was directed at another man. Then she embraced him. Jon poured himself another cup of wine and took a small sip. Thinking about their interactions made his blood run cold. The jealousy he felt was pointless. He had no claim on the dragon queen and yet he could not help but fantasize about pushing the knight off that damned cliff just for touching her. Parts of him even wondered if, when Jorah volunteered for the mission north, he jumped at the chance to prove his bravery to the queen. Maybe it had something to do with it, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he felt about his decision. Finishing his second cup, he went to his own chamber to wash up and change his clothes. He had not brought much, but Davos had done his best to clean his leather tunic and his boots were as good as new. He washed his face and ears and made sure to scrub his armpits with the little soap that had been put out for him. As he was putting on his boots, he looked out the window and saw the sun setting. He heard a low screech and then noticed one of the queen's dragons soaring just above the surface of the sea. The orange light made the dragon look almost black, but Jon knew this was not the large one that almost took his head off when he arrived at Dragonstone. Transfixed he walked to the window and watched the dragon fly in elegant turns and twists. He wondered what it would be like to ride one of those things. The queen had ridden the great black one into battle against the Lannisters, and to no one's surprise, won an easy victory. He could not imagine what wielding that kind of power would feel like. And he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"When is that dragon queen of yours coming?" Tormund asked while nudging Jon's shoulder. Jon had fallen asleep thinking about flying dragons. Still drowsy from his cold slumber he closed his eyes again and felt the pull of sleep. He wanted to dream about dragons again. And about their rider. Once more Jon felt a nudge, more of a shove this time, from Tormund. "Don't fall asleep. You may not wake up again". Jon knew he was not supposed to sleep when he was out in the cold. But he would rather freeze to death than be ripped to pieces by wights. He was loosing hope. She wasn't coming and part of him wanted her to stay away. He wanted her to be safe and at the same time he longed to see her face again.

As he and Davos made their way to the Great Hall where they would be dining, Jon wondered if the queen would still be in a bad mood after their last conversation. As he steeled himself before entering, he heard the sound of a flute playing a merry tune coming from the Great Hall. "No, no, no, Your Grace. Remember to lower your shoulders, they should always be level with the floor. And pull them as far back as you can". As Jon entered the hall he saw a small wiry man standing in the middle of the floor. "We will try again. From the beginning, if you will, Todd". Now Jon noticed the flute player, standing close to the corner of the room. But then he registered the movement of a small figure that had been standing behind the wiry man. Dressed in a red gown, the queen moved with both hesitation and elegance. His eyes moved to her neck and shoulders. Her hair had been braided and arranged in an intricate style on the back of her head, leaving the top of her back bare. The dress cut lower, than he had ever seen on a woman. A respectable woman, that is. It was off-shoulder and went into a small dip at her bosom. Jon didn't know where to look, so instead he took in the room, but after inspecting the gray walls, his eyes returned to the timid student. Her eyebrows were knit together in deep concentration as she stepped and turned in time with the music lifting her arms in different positions. "Delicate hands, Your Grace, and lift your chin!". The queen corrected her posture and loosened her joints slightly. She was a quick learner, she already moved with more confidence than she had just a moment ago. "Young man, do you know the Spagna dance?". Jon startled as the little man addressed him. He had been staring at the queen and did not pay attention to anyone else in the room. Davos answered before he could form a reply: "You are speaking to Jon Snow, The King in the North, not just any young man". "A fitting partner then, to a queen". The dancing teacher seemed to pay no mind to titles, whether he was speaking to the queen or himself. Jon cleared his throat and replied: "I never learned the dances of court. I suspect my father did not think I would ever have use of it". Jon heard the little man make a sound in the back of his throat, followed by a low comment: "Northern savages". In his youth Jon would have been embarrassed by his own lack of education and angry at the insult, but his temper had somehow cooled over the years and now he simply shrugged off the little man's comment. He had more important things to do than prance around, like a prince from a song. He soon found Lord Tyrion making his way towards him, a cup of wine in his one hand. "Learning Westerosi customs is becoming quite the pass time, not just for the queen, but for several others. The other day I found some of the Dothraki blood riders attempting to trade with some locals. There were some problems with the language, but other than that, everything went smoothly. Trade is trade, I suppose." Jon nodded at him, surprised that the seemingly savage and brutish warriors traded at all. As he was about to reply, he saw Ser Jorah enter the hall and that he walked in a straight line towards the queen. He stood in front of her, bowed and held out his hand for the queen to take. "Finally! A true nobleman fit for a queen." the dancing master exclaimed and Jon cringed inwardly. The flute player started from the beginning and Mormont took the queen's hand and with the other, led her by the waist into a series of steps and turns. He seemed very much at ease with the movements and the way the queen smiled at the old knight, made his stomach knot. She looked relaxed and carefree as she skipped and slid across the stone floor in beautiful, fluent steps. When Jon returned his gaze to Tyrion, he noticed a knowing smile on the dwarf's lips. Jon changed the subject and soon the moment was forgotten as the remaining guests joined in the Great Hall. There were sixteen guests in total. He had been introduced to Lady Missandei, Lord Varys and Ser Jorah. He knew Tyrion and Davos, off course. But the other guests he did not know. There was a dark-skinned man with no hair on his head. He stood up straight with his hands behind him in the background. He was clearly a soldier, but there was only one of him, so he must be of high rank. He stood behind a small group of colorfully dressed men. They too, looked foreign, but had a more casual stance. They were talking to lord Varys, with the help of Missandei who translated what was being said back and forth. Arriving last were four Dothraki horse lords. They spoke loudly and walked into the room as though they owned it. They walked up to the queen who, to his own dismay, was still talking with Mormont, and interrupted with an odd-looking bow after which they went to the far side of the table and sat down. Soon the queen ended her conversation with Ser Jorah and walked to the group of strangers, who bowed deeply, and spoke with them in a language he did not know. Soon everyone sat down at the table. Jon was showed to a seat across from the queen, who had Tyrion on her right side and Ser Jorah at her left. He had Davos to his right and one of the foreigners in colored garbs on his left side. He nodded politely at the stranger, but worried he would not be able to have a conversation with the man, since he knew no other language but the common tongue. As the party started eating and conversing with each other, Jon was relieved to find out, that the foreigner he had been placed next to spoke the common tongue, and soon he was deep in conversation with the man, who he learned, was a former slave master from Mereen. Even though Jon was slightly put off by the man's past, he soon found himself intrigued by the stories of the country from across the Narrow Sea. The former master was known as Kanziji and was one of the few survivors who attended the games in the fighting pits when the Sons of the Harpy attacked. Jon was surprised that the queen would tolerate such cruelty, let alone participate in the violent traditions. He gazed at the queen and noticed a cool distance between herself and Tyrion and wondered what was the cause to their discourse. Tyrion was emptying one glass of wine after the other and being unusually quiet and the queen sent a disapproving stare his way every so often. "Tell us of the battle against the Lannisters, your Grace". Kanziji had now turned his attention towards the queen and she looked down at Tyrion before she replied: "We attacked the Lannister army at the Gold Road. The Dothraki charged at full force and Drogon and I burned the loot. We won, easily". "Not just the loot", Tyrion muttered under his breath and the queens jaw tightened. Jon figured the dragon had not just been used to destroy supply wagons, but imagining the pain those soldiers suffered made the old burn on his hand itch. "You must forgive Lord Tyrion. The sight of burning men makes him queasy. He would rather see them writhe around with spears in their guts and bleeding out from missing limbs. In unimaginable pain for hours and hours, calling out for their mothers and their gods". The queen's voice had risen as she spoke, and everyone around the table had fallen silent. "And the Tarlys?" Tyrion said after a long pause. "I gave them a choice. Lord Tarly made it very clear, that he would not bend to my will, nor go to the Wall and serve with the Night's Watch. And his son was stupid enough to follow him to his death". Jon's heart stopped. Did she mean Sam? No, he was at the citadel. And he would never fight alongside his father. He remembered the stories Sam had told him about how his father treated him, and felt no sorrow for the man. The relaxed atmosphere in the room had changed to a heavy silence. Jon looked at the fierce queen before him. She looked deflated and a bit tired. She rose from her seat and addressed everyone at the table: "I think our festive evening must come to an end. Kanziji, we shall speak further on the morrow. Ser Jorah, My Lord", she spoke, directed first at her loyal knight and then Jon, "Be sure to get plenty of rest tonight. I shall see you off in the morning". She then left the Hall and Missandei followed after. Jon felt a twinge of disappointment. He had hoped to see her smile one more time before they would part. Maybe even speak with her alone. Davos however seemed keen on returning to their quarters to sleep, so they walked there in silence.

Jon tossed and turned in his bed. He could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face and heard her angry voice. He would go over their argument again and again, and every time he would come up with a better answer than the one he had given her. A couple of times he imagined pressing her against the wall and kissing her deeply. Those thoughts made his blood rush to his cheeks and groin. He wanted to give in to his imagination and give himself relief, but he knew it would only make it more difficult to part from her. He wanted to stay and… well, he did not know exactly. He could not court her. She was a queen, not a lady. And he was a bastard. Irritated by his thoughts, he tossed his blanket to the side and put on clothes. He needed to clear his head. He walked down the corridor to the map room. He did not know the castle well, so he went the only way he knew. The room was illuminated only by moonlight and Jon walked to the window to look at the ocean. The sound of waves crashing against cliffs was soothing and so he was lost in thought when someone entered. "You were supposed to be resting". Jon turned quickly at the sound of her voice. He was shocked to see the queen was dressed only in a thin shift and an open robe. Her feet were bare and her hair loose. "I had trouble sleeping", Jon replied and half-turned toward her. She walked up to him and stood by his side, facing the window. The moon light shone in her hair, and Jon had never seen anything so beautiful. "I am sorry about what I said. Earlier. Family is a difficult subject for me". The queen's voice was smooth, but Jon could see the ghosts in her eyes. "He used to love me, you know. My brother. When we were living on the streets in the Free cities, we had to sleep in the sewers to hide from the usurper's assassins. He would hold me close to keep me warm and comfort me when my stomach ached from hunger. It wasn't until he had to sell mother's crown that his eyes turned cold and he became more and more angry at the world. In the end he hated everyone. Even me". Jon could not imagine what it must have been like to be so alone. Even though Lady Catelyn and to a degree Sansa had made him feel unwanted, he still had the devotion of his brothers and little Arya. And his father had loved him. He knew that, even though Lord Stark could not express it the way he did with his legitimate children. "When did he die?", Jon asked. The queen shook her head gently. "Years ago. It doesn't matter now. He will never hurt me again. Nothing can hurt me now". The queen dropped the subject and tucked her robe closer to her body. Noticing she was cold, Jon cursed himself for not bringing his cloak with him. He desperately wanted to hold her and keep her warm and safe. But he knew she would not accept him. With his arms weighing heavily at his sides, he decided to take his leave. "I should get some rest. Goodnight Your Grace". As her turned he felt her grab his hand. Surprised at the action he turned and looked to make sure he did not imagine it. He then saw the queen's face. Her eyes wide and searching and her lips parted. She gently pulled at his hand and Jon moved toward her, hardly believing what he was about to do. "Don't go", she whispered and took his other hand. He took another step and bend his head toward her just as she reached up to him. He could feel her warm breath against his own lips and his heart started beating faster. She released his hands and let her own wander halfway up his arms and then up his chest. Her breathing was heavy but controlled and Jon let his hands find her small waist. A shiver ran up his back and neck as he leaned down closer to her lips. She put her hands on the back of his neck before he closed the final distance between them and molded his lips to hers. Their lips locked perfectly together, warm and cold at the same time. The kiss started slowly as they were testing each other. But soon their desire blazed and Jon pulled her harder against his chest and grazed his tongue against her lower lip. She gave in and opened herself to him and soon they were clinging to each other. He held her so close he almost lifted her from the floor and the sound of her desperate and frustrated moan made his cock hard. He wanted to realize his fantasy of taking her against the wall. To spread her legs and bury himself inside her and pound into her until she was screaming in ecstasy. His head was foggy with desire, but he knew fucking her here and now would be taking it too far. In stead he slowed down the kiss and stroked her back and waist. The queen pulled back her face slightly and rested her forehead against his. As their breathing slowed the queen raised her eyes to his, and as quickly as she had opened herself to him, just as quickly she closed herself off. She took her hands off him and straightened her back. "Goodnight Jon Snow. I hope you will sleep well". Then she turned and walked out the door.

"Northern fool" Jon mumbled under his breath as he ducked his head into his own neck for warmth. He should have stayed at Dragonstone and found a different solution to their problem. If he had stayed he would have been able to pursue a relationship with the queen. She had wanted him. The most beautiful, strong and clever woman he had ever known, had wanted him and here he was. In a frozen hell with 6 men, just as foolish as himself. The Hound rose from his slumber beside him and stood up to stretch his legs. He turned to the wight and gave it a swift kick. It screamed and so did the other thousands in response. As if they had all somehow felt it. Jon rose to his feet at the sound. As did the other men. Except Thoros, who was on the ground, completely motionless. Dondarion stood over him. "Thoros?", he called twice. He was stiff and cold. Life had left his body and all that remained of the priest was his frozen shell. In stead of leaving him for the army of the dead, Dondarion said a final prayer to the Lord of Light and set his old friend's body afire.

The lake would freeze over soon, and the dead would be able to cross it. Daenerys was their only hope and as the water hardened with every minute that passed, so did Jon's resolve. He trusted her. He knew she would come for them. He only hoped she would not be too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Auther's note: I meant for this to be a one-shot, but as I am new to fanfiction and accidentally marked it as in-process, I decided to write another chapter from Dany's POV. I hope it's better than the first one, which I was not completely happy about but decided to publish anyway. I would love some feedback on both chapters, if you have the time. I am not sure whether I should continue, since I am working on a season 8 story, but let me know if you want more 'between scenes' stories. I hope you will enjoy it either way! :-)_**

The deck of the ship had two hundred and fifty-seven planks. Daenerys had counted them over and over as she paced around in the cold wind above the hull of the ship. There were no books or maps or other distractions on the boat traveling South and she needed something to do. So she counted. Two sails, twenty-four ropes and two hundred and fifty-seven planks. She turned a corner in the stern of the ship. They had left Eastwatch around noon the day before. And now it was nearing dusk again. Jon had still not woken from his deep sleep. He was alive when they found him, but if he had stayed out in the cold for much longer, his heart would have given in and stopped for good. She shuddered at that thought. Even though she had not known the King in the North for more than a couple of weeks, she already felt irrationally attached to him. She had tried to shake off her feelings but they always returned, stronger and more persistent every time. It was because of his eyes. The way he looked at her made her feel vulnerable and unsure of herself. When most men looked at her, they would give her a dirty smirk or an arrogant, patronizing grimace before saying something ridiculous. But Jon's eyes made her heart stop and her stomach plummet. When she fell into their black depths, she knew he saw right through her stiffness and indifference and into her heart. In return she saw him, all of him. He wore no masks and never pretended to be anything but himself. In truth it was as if he laid himself bare for her to see when he looked at her.

—

"Tell Qhono to gather a force of seven hundred riders. They will leave before sunset". "Yes, Your Grace", Missandei answered. Daenerys blood was boiling. The Iron Islands, Dorne and The Reach were lost, as well as the Greyjoys' ships. She could not believe she had lost so much in so little time. _But she would soon have control again_ , she swore as she walked up the beach toward the castle. Varys and Tyrion had fallen behind as her rage had sent her into an angry stride and the two were unable to keep up with her. Missandei, however, was always just a step behind her, ready to help her with anything she should need. Just a couple of paces behind them were Jon Snow and Davos Seaworth. She turned her head slightly and addressed the so-called King in the North: "I will make sure you still have plenty of men working in the caves. When I get back we will discuss terms of an alliance". If what he had shown her in the caves were not just myths but real monsters invading the continent, she would have to work out a plan, that did not get in the way of her conquering the Seven Kingdoms, but that was another problem for another day. Tomorrow she would ride into battle on Drogon for the first time, and her blood pumped at the thought of revenge over those who had taken her allies from her. "Then I shall look forward to your return, Your Grace". She rolled her eyes. Ever the nobleman with impeccable manners, but she knew he had a temper. She had seen it in the throne room, when he had refused to kneel. Part of her wanted to ire him, just to see how far she could push him before he snapped and his cool nonchalance would inflame his temperament and his gray, stormy eyes would turn into burning coals. His eyes had been almost black in the caves and she had noticed the way he looked at her, as she was taking in the drawings there. His eyes had fallen to her lips several times and he had even dared to touch her. Dario, who would be considered a brave man by many, had not touched her until she gave him permission. But Jon Snow had simply reached out and gently taken her arm and lead her deeper into the cave, and she had followed him without hesitation. His touch had been innocent and yet it set her blood aflame and when they had been standing close together, a wild part of her had wanted to throw the torch in a puddle of water and seduce him in the darkness. Off course she could not do that, so in stead she broke through the heavy tension and walked out of the cave. Calm and gathered.

—

For the first time in weeks, she could see the stars through the cloudy canopy above her. The crisp, cold air made them shine so bright, she was lost in their light when Davos came to stand beside her. "How is he?", she asked after a few moments of silence between them. The old smuggler had turned his head upwards to gaze at the stars as well and answered: "He has not yet woken up. He twitches a limb every now and then, but…". Daenerys could tell from the tone of his voice, that he cared a great deal for the young king. They continued to watch the sky in silence as a shadow passed over them. Rhaegal was flying low, keeping close to his mother. Drogon had flown off to be alone, as was his way. "I lost my son in the battle of Blackwater Bay, a couple of years back. It was as though a piece of my soul had been torn out. I am sorry for what this mission cost you". He turned to her and she flinched as she felt a jab in her heart. She was not ready to talk about Viserion. She could still hear his scream of agony as he fell from the sky, and the image of when he hit the frozen lake haunted her when she closed her eyes. In stead she replied: "I am sorry for your loss. I too lost a son, many years ago. He was stillborn".

It was getting colder, and Daenerys no longer found the stars beautiful. Their light was harsh and cold. She turned to leave as Davos spoke again. "I know I shouldn't be asking you, since you are a queen. But if you need something to keep your mind off things for a while, it would be a great help if you could watch over Jon for a couple of hours. Sandor Clegane is the one watching him now, but he is not fond of the task. And I am an old man in the need of rest". She gave him a small smile. "I will try to sleep for a while. Then I shall relieve Ser Clegane". She nodded at him and and continued her way below. As she walked down the steps, fatigue came over her and she stopped to gather her strength. Her head was pounding and her body was week. She wanted to weep. To cry until there were no tears left in her. Cry for Viserion, for Rhaego and for Jon. She walked the rest of the way to her chamber, closed the door and let the tears run down her face. In silence.

—

The Dothraki had left an hour ago and now she was sitting in the room with the painted table alone. She wouldn't need to leave with Drogon until sunrise, so she took this moment to think. Lady Olenna's last words to her lingered in her mind. _You are a dragon. Be a dragon!_ She had always trusted her own instincts, but now that she was in Westeros, she relied on her advisors to guide her through Westerosi politics and methods of war. She had overestimated Tyrion. He was clever, to be sure, but he was not cunning. And he drank too much. She would have to talk to him about that when they returned from the battle. His drinking was clouding his mind and his mind was what she had need of. She did not know what to think of Varys.

Missandei had made her some tea, she had brought with them from Meereen. Daenerys was warming her hands on the cup and her feet by the fire when she heard the door open and saw Lord Snow enter. He seemed surprised to see her. "Pardon me, Your Grace, but I thought you intended to observe the battle tomorrow. I thought you had left". She raised her eyebrows and gave an amused smile. "Observe? I will be leading the battle tomorrow. Do you imagine the Dothraki would follow me, if I did not fight?". The expression on his face told her, that was exactly what he thought. She laughed at that and turned her attention back to the flames. "A khal who cannot ride, is no khal", she spoke softly. Then she gestured to the chair across from hers for Jon to sit in. He walked over at sat down. They just sat there for a while before she asked: "Would you like some tea? It's from Meereen, it has a lot of warm spices in it. And it's supposed to be good for your health". She took the pot and started pouring before he answered. He took the cup and smelled it's content and then he blew on it before taking a sip. Daenerys found the simple gesture transfixing. The way his lips puckered when he drank and seeing his tongue peek out when he licked his lips. She was already warm, but the thoughts she had about the King in the North made her even hotter. Seeing his rough, scarred yet beautifully shaped hands and long fingers made her fantasize about what the rest might look like. He had two scars on his face too, so his body was probably covered in them. He was pale but he looked healthy enough. After a while, Jon noticed the way she was observing him and turned his face to meet her eyes. As always,when their eyes connected, she felt like she was physically attached to him and unable to move. But she didn't want to look away. In stead she asked him to tell her about Winterfell and the North.

—

When the moon was full and high in the sky, Daenerys had taken Clegane's place by Jon's side, and as she watched him breathing slowly but steadily, she felt certain she would look into his eyes again. A candle had been lit and put by the bed and it's light shone upon his handsome face. Sometimes his eyebrows would draw together as though he was in deep thought and sometimes his hands would twitch. His hair was loose and spread on the pillow. It was jet black in the candle-light, so was his eyebrows and lashes. And his skin had a warm glow. She wondered if anyone had tried to wake him. She wanted to speak to him, even as he slept. Now that she had seen what was coming for them she knew she could not fight it alone. She needed him by her side.

Suddenly Jon gasped and his eyes shot open. He was breathing rapidly and he tried to sit up, but his muscles were too week. Daenerys stood from her chair and leaned over him as she took his hand to calm him. She put her hand on his chest to push him back against the pillows and in doing so, she felt how hot his skin was. He had a fever. She tried to calm him with her voice and she put her cold hand against his forehead to cool him down. He was still restless but was no longer trying to get up. His eyes had closed again and his breathing slowed. There was no maester on board the ship, so she had to make due with the scarce knowledge she had about treating fevers. She knew she had to make sure he would not get too hot, so she fetched some water and a piece of cloth to dry off the sweat that had gathered on his chest and forehead. As she applied the cold water to his skin, she wondered for the hundredth time, how he could have survived being stabbed so many times. The scar across his heart looked particularly deadly. Perhaps they were not as deep as they looked.

She had nodded off. She had only laid her head down on the bed for a moment and then she felt something by her head. She looked up. Jon had reached for her, still only half conscious. His lips were parted and she noticed the little cracks in them. He needed water. Locating a tray with a cup and a pot made from clay, she placed herself by his head and lifted his upper body and supported it with her own. With his back and head resting on her chest, she took the cup of water and made him drink. he coughed a little, but some went down and after a few tries, he started swallowing. When the cup was empty, Daenerys laid him back down. Her heart swelled with tenderness as she looked at his relaxed form. She gave in to the urge to stroke his cheek. His beard scratched her hand as it had done her lips a few weeks ago. She remembered the way his lips had been both soft and commanding, how she had wanted him to push her against the wall or lay her down on the table. The memory of his hard leathers against her frilly nightgown stirred her desire and she also recalled feeling his hard member against her belly. It had taken all her control to stop herself from fucking him, as she would have done if he was anyone else but a possible ally. She trembled slightly at the thought and had to stop herself from bending down to taste his lips once more. That would not do, stealing kisses from her rival while he was sleeping.

—

Jon was talking about the Wolfs Wood near Winterfell. How he used to ride there with his brother Robb. He talked about his siblings and all their wolf pups. "I hope to see a direwolf, some day", she said after listening to a humorous story about Jon's sister Arya's wolf, Nymeria. Apparently the curious creature had found a loose thread on the other sister's dress and had started pulling until her shift was showing. Sansa had been furious and Arya had simply laughed. Jon was smiling as he talked of his home. "You have tamed some fearsome beasts yourself", Jon replied. She smiled at that. "The first great beast i tamed, was my Dothraki husband", she said as she took a sip of her tea. He looked at her skeptically and she knew what he was thinking, so she elaborated: "You cannot tame a beast with violence. It takes patience, a firm hand and above all else tenderness". She thought of her first husband almost every day. How she had come to love him despite his rough treatment of her in the beginning of their marriage. She concluded that she loved him out of necessity, when she had needed a strong man to protect her and lead her. Had she met him today, she would have rejected him because of his domineering nature. She also thought of Rhaego. _How old would he have been today?_ She was unconsciously rubbing her lower abdomen, as she had done when she carried him. Thoughts of her past were interrupted when the King in the North asked her: "Did you love him?". She stared into the fire, slightly surprised at the question, and finally replied: "Yes. I loved him when I was a girl. But now I am a woman". They stayed silent for a while, each contemplating their pasts. She could feel his eyes on her and it made her feel slightly self-conscious. As she remembered her previous life and the pain she had endured, she felt exposed. "Did you ever love a woman, Jon Snow?", she asked, curious of his past. She knew he was not married, but perhaps he had a lover somewhere. The thought made her feel an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. "I loved a wildling girl. She died. It feels as though it was a lifetime ago". Now it was his turn to loose himself in the flames. Tyrion had suggested an alliance with the North. But the nature of that alliance was still to be determined. She had left her lover, Daario, in Meereen, because she knew it was frowned upon in Westeros for women to take lovers. And if she needed to marry for an alliance, she would rather avoid any complications. Jon Snow was the best option for a husband. Ideal, really. He ruled over the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, he seemed honorable and just. And they were around the same age and seemed to share an attraction for one another. She wanted to ask how he would feel about such an arrangement, but it was getting late and she needed her strength for the battle.

—

After a surprisingly eventful night, Daenerys considered asking someone to take over for her. The sun had risen hours ago and Davos had come and gone to check up on them. She needed to sleep. After Jon fell back into unconsciousness, she was left alone with her thoughts, and they were not pleasant ones. Drogon and Rhaegal were flying outside, occasionally emitting a mournful screech and she shared in their pain at the loss of their brother. Her gentle Viserion was the second son she had lost and as she sat there, listening to his brothers' cries, she let her tears fall once more. Jon's breathing was now even and steady, and he no longer had a fever. He would wake soon, she thought, and asked herself if she really wanted to sit by his side, vulnerable and raw, when he did. Suddenly his eyes fluttered open, slowly and unfocused, before he found her puffy, red ones. She gave him what she hoped was a relieved smile. But instead of returning it, he looked at her with so much shame and regret, she had to look away, when he started apologizing. Then he took her hand and she forced herself to look at him. She tried to relief his guilt by attempting to smile, but his sympathy only made her pain worse. So she removed her hand and explained to him what she had tried to explain to herself countless times, when she had started to regret flying North to save it's king. She had not wanted to believe his tales and convinced herself he was exaggerating or misinformed. But now she knew. She also tried to relay to him, that the union she hoped to gain with him, would not result in children. Though unsure whether he understood the underlying message, she still felt relief at the admittance. She promised him her help in defeating the Night King and his vile creations. Then he called her Dany and swore fealty to her. She did not know how to feel about him addressing her with her nickname from her childhood, but when he called her _'my queen' ,_ her insides squirmed with excitement at the double-meaning. She wanted to be his. Not a queen to a king, but just to be his. She took his hand back in her own and marveled at their newfound closeness. She remembered their passionate embrace in the room with the painted table, but this was different. This was not just desire and dominance. They now shared a promise of intimacy and trust. When she tried to remove her hand, he held onto her and looked her deeply in the eyes, expectantly. Her heart started to beat faster as she felt him pull her towards him, so gently she didn't know if she had imagined it. His eyes scorched themselves into hers and she saw a desperate longing within them. She wanted to give in. To lay her head against his chest and go to sleep in his arms instead of in her own cold bed. But she knew she had to be sensible, for the both of them. So she pulled her hand from his and tore her eyes away from his raw gaze. She told him, he needed rest, and tried to ignore the pain in his eyes at her rejection. One day, soon, they would lie together, but not until he was completely healed. And she needed to heal too. She left his cabin, with a heavy but hopeful heart.


End file.
